


Making It Official

by IneffablePenguin



Series: Love, and Other Ineffable Things [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Soulmates, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffablePenguin/pseuds/IneffablePenguin
Summary: Wherein Crowley and Aziraphale finally tie the knot, very officially. More or less. But they're slightly out of their depth.{Part 10 of the 'Love, and Other Ineffable Things' series}





	1. A Question of Redundancy

**Author's Note:**

> If this is the first in the series you have read, you will probably want to at least read [Keeping Up Appearances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19628662) first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Crowley asks Aziraphale a question. Again.

* * *

It was a lovely early Sunday morning. 

Per the capricious hours posted on the door, the bookshop was closed. It spent most of its time closed lately, and indeed for the last six months, but as it was very occasionally open it could still technically be called a book_shop_ in the strictest sense of the word. 

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk in the back room, scribbling notes to himself for a review of a play they had seen recently. He fiddled with the silver serpent ring on his lefthand finger, rubbing it absently with his thumb. It had only been about a week, and it still felt rather strange to have a ring there. Crowley sat in a chair next to him, shoulder just barely touching his, toying with the remains of a croissant they had picked up for breakfast.

He carefully crossed out an unsatisfactory line and began to write a new one. “What do you want to do this week?” he asked, still squinting at the page. 

“I think,” said Crowley casually, “that I would like to marry you.”

His heart gave an enormous lurch, and Aziraphale froze with his pen halfway through the word _stupendous. _He looked up at him, startled. “What?”

His demon was sitting there watching him with his chin propped up on his fist, a small smile on his lips. His cheeks were slightly pink, but he repeated himself. “I would like to get married to you.”

“But-“ he blinked at him a few times, confused. “I thought- aren’t we already, more or less?”

“Well, yes, but not officially.”

He set down the pen and turned fully to look at him. “By ‘_officially_,’ do you mean..._legally_, with a human ceremony?”

Crowley's cheeks were most definitely turning red now. “Yes.”

Aziraphale took a second to process this, then broke into a huge smile. “Really? That’s a _wonderful_ idea.” He stood and wrapped his arms around Crowley, who promptly pulled him onto his lap and kissed him instead.

They broke apart a minute later, and Aziraphale gave his head a slight shake to clear it. “Stop that, or we won’t get anything done today.” Words not withstanding, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling and twining his arms around Crowley’s neck anyway. Heavens, but he was just gorgeous; sometimes it was a struggle to tear himself away for even a minute. 

“So...you do want to?” He looked incredibly relieved.

”Yes! I honestly didn’t think you would be interested in any of that, what with all the fanfare involved.” 

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, not loosening his grip on his waist one bit. "There's nothing wrong with a little fanfare every once in a while." 

"I should say not." His face hurt, he was smiling so hard. “So. _Can_ we even do that this week? Aren't there a lot of steps to take? What do we need to do?” he asked excitedly. 

Crowley grinned too, those beautiful high cheekbones scrunching up as he did, and Aziraphale felt himself melt a little. He never got tired of seeing him smile like that, the smile without a hint of bitterness or tension, that practically lit up the room. Before this year he had only seen that smile a bare handful of times.

“Well, as it happens, I looked into it and it turns out the entire process is massively convoluted. You wouldn’t believe all the ridiculous forms and waiting periods involved.” He kissed Aziraphale’s neck and sighed. “Trust humans to over-complicate something like this.” He kissed him again. “But nothing a little bit of demonic tampering couldn’t take care of.” He twiddled his fingers mysteriously and smirked, looking enormously pleased with himself.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale looked at him skeptically. “What exactly did you do?” He had been doing his taxes for years, and he knew very well how complicated things could be when the government got their hands on it. Crowley sometimes had a rather dubious understanding of some of the more tedious elements of human life, as he tended to skip right over them.

He didn’t mean to doubt Crowley, not exactly. His demon was the most clever, stunning, and marvelous creature to ever walk the planet.

He was also, on occasion, a bit of an idiot.

“Well, I notified the Register, properly, since that part was easy enough. It was just a matter of showing up and then..._convincing_ them that we were both there, signing. As for the other paperwork, I already took care of it.” 

“Huh. You don't say.” He was smiling again. “Did you have a day in mind?” 

“Well...” Crowley hesitated, his self-satisfied air faltering slightly. “How do you feel about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow!” Incredulously. 

“Too soon? We can always reschedule.” 

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” he replied hastily. “Okay, it's still early; we could probably make it work for tomorrow. Let’s see, where could we do this? Surely not a church, but perhaps the register office..." He stopped in the middle of running through a mental list of possibilities. “Wait. _Re_-schedule?”

"Ah. We- we might have a booking in Westminster, tomorrow."

Aziraphale shifted on his lap and looked at him in surprise, and growing amusement. “A booking? Where at? You’ve put this all together _very_ quickly.”

"Yeah, well...yeah." 

“Really? Everything is all in place to get married tomorrow?” He smiled, his excitement rising. 

Crowley smiled back, obviously pleased by his enthusiasm. “Well, we still need to come up with two witnesses, but that should be a nonissue. We can just ask Sergeant Shadwell and that woman that you possessed. Handy that they've shacked up together, makes it much simpler.” They had received a cheery little postcard from the couple a few months earlier, from their honeymoon location in Italy.

“Ugh, _don’t_ remind me.” Possessing had been an incredibly unsettling, if necessary experience. “But that is an excellent idea; Madame Tracy is a very reasonable woman. I’ll call them up straight away and see if they are free tomorrow.” He squirmed excitedly. "Oh, good heavens, there is suddenly so much to do." He jumped up off Crowley's lap and pulled him to his feet. "Do I have anything to wear? Do you? Are we doing custom vows? Oh, my- I need to write vows." 

Crowley looked like he was trying not to laugh. "You can if you want to, but it's not a requirement."

“Wait- wait wait wait,” Aziraphale said, frowning as another thought occurred to him. “You notified the Register? For tomorrow,specifically?”

“That’s right.” He sounded slightly wary now. 

“Doesn’t...I admit, my knowledge on all this is very fuzzy, but I thought that had to be done a ways in advance? Around a month in advance?”

Crowley opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He cleared his throat. “Well...yeah.”

He stared at him. “You set this up a _month_ ago? And you're only telling me now?" He felt an enormous grin stretch across his face at the obvious alarm on Crowley’s. “Hold on, you only just asked me and gave me the ring a week ago! Wasn’t that, as the humans say, 'jumping the gun' a bit?”

Crowley just looked at him and slowly turned red. “Well I- I ah, thought...just in case...”

“What if I’d said no?” he asked slyly, raising his eyebrows.

Crowley stared at him, face rapidly draining to slightly pale now. “I-I....”

Aziraphale took pity on him and stopped his panicked stammering with a kiss. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry, I’m just teasing. Of course I wouldn’t have said no.” He kissed him again and hugged him tight, beaming. At times like these, Crowley's actions spoke louder than his words ever could. “Very sensible, darling. Excellent forward thinking.”

* * *

Crowley came down the stairs from the bedroom, hearing the murmur of Aziraphale’s voice as he made the all-important phone call to their witnesses. 

Aziraphale had vanished for a couple hours earlier, claiming he had “errands” to run in preparation for tomorrow. Crowley had no idea what those preparations could be, but he didn’t argue. He spent the time wandering idly around, checking and rechecking that he had everything set and ready for the next day.

He had botched his initial plan with the rings so badly that he was determined that nothing go wrong with this part. 

As it turned out, arranging a wedding without the knowledge and participation of one of the parties had been even more difficult than rearranging an entire motorway design. He had deliberately neglected to mention the computer hack, late-night paperwork (during the rare interval when Aziraphale was sleeping and he was not), and additional memory-tampering that had gone into making this happen. The legal forms alone had nearly flummoxed him; it was the first time he had ever bothered with that sort of thing, and he was now firmly convinced that someone in his old office had designed the entire system. He would have admired their diabolical ingenuity if he weren't so close to tearing out his hair. He had come very near to giving up entirely and just confessing the whole thing, and ruining the surprise. He was intensely grateful that Aziraphale didn't know more about the process; it would have been mortifying for him to know exactly how much work had gone into it. He smiled fondly to himself. Luckily, his angel was completely oblivious about the minutiae of modern life. 

But all was finally in place now, and he was excited - there was something so perfect about joining himself to his angel by the rules of this world. They had chosen this place together, had chosen each other and humanity over every other faction and against all precedent; this felt like the final piece of the puzzle. If they were going to live like humans- more or less- there was no better way to symbolise that choice. 

He was also unaccountably nervous. Not about marrying Aziraphale, which as far as he was concerned was a mere formality, but about marrying him in front of other people. He wished there was a way to do it entirely alone, but then he supposed that would defeat the entire purpose.

He walked into the room just in time to see Aziraphale set the rotary phone down in its cradle. 

He looked up at him and sighed in frustration. "Well, Ms. Tracy agreed to come, but that madman of hers is off on some kind of week-long mountain trip. Something about...werewolves." He rolled his eyes briefly skyward, praying for patience. "That leaves us one witness short for tomorrow." 

"Hrrngh." Crowley scowled. How irritating. That possibility honestly hadn't occurred to him; if anyone’s schedule had been full, he had planned to simply _alter_ it. He sighed, tapping his foot on the floor in thought, then snapped his fingers. "What about that girl, the one with the book and the stupid name?" 

"The one you hit with the car, you mean?" Aziraphale said archly. “Anathema.”

"Oh you keep going on about that; it was ages ago. Yes, that one. What about her? She lives here now, doesn't she?" 

Aziraphale blew out a breath that was almost a groan and rubbed a hand down his face. "I suppose she_ is _the only other person we know who can be trusted to not ask uncomfortable questions, should the need for any miracles arise. Luckily, I did have the foresight to get her contact information last year. But she might not even agree, she barely knows us." He looked at him, a mix of fondness and exasperation written all over his face. "You know, this wouldn't be an issue if you had told me about this, oh, _any _time in the last month instead of springing it on me the day before!" 

"Sorry..." The truth was that he had intended to ask far sooner, but had been half-certain that Aziraphale wouldn't want to do this at all, and had floundered around all month trying to decide whether to bring it up or let the date pass. His courage last week (and again today) had been born of the desperation that comes with running out of time. 

"I'll make the call," he said resignedly. 

“Ah- it’s alright, I think I’d better handle it.” The angel opened his little leather address book and paged through it, shaking his head. “You are many things, my love, but diplomatic is not one of them.” 

* * *

Aziraphale had got the girl to agree, of course, as he very well knew that he would. He was very good with people, even when they were incredibly tiresome; it was part of his endless charm. The two women would meet them at the venue tomorrow. The venue that he still had not specified to Aziraphale. 

It was done. All was finally ready. Almost. 

Crowley was siting hunched at the small wooden writing desk in the bedroom, the only piece of furniture in the room other than the bed and bedside table. Everything else had been long since removed, as it became a hazard during certain private activities. 

He had a piece of paper in front of him and was staring down at it, brow furrowed in thought. 

"What are you doing up here?" Aziraphale asked at his shoulder.

Crowley started and nearly leapt out of the chair- he hadn't heard him come in at all, he had been so lost in concentration. He managed to avoid falling, but banged his knee rather badly on the underside of the desk. He twisted around to see Aziraphale standing there looking down at him, obviously fighting not to laugh. He cleared his throat, heart pounding, and tried in vain to regain some semblance of dignity. "Nothing, just..." he cast about for something to say, but Aziraphale wasn't listening. He was looking instead at the paper sitting on the desk.

“Is that your vows? You wrote your own vows? Ooh, let me see!” He reached out his hand, but Crowley snatched up the paper before he could touch it.

“No, no no no, it’s private.” The idea of Aziraphale reading it, analysing it, before the proper time, was cringe-inducing. 

Aziraphale looked vastly amused. "Come on,” he teased. “You’re going to be saying these to me tomorrow in public anyway.” He put his arms around his shoulders and reached for it again, playfully trying to grab it, but Crowley held it away just out of reach. It was one of the benefits of having longer arms. “Yes, but until then, it’s private,” he insisted. 

"Hmmmm." Aziraphale tightened his arms around him and slowly kissed the back of his neck. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to show me?" he murmured quietly. 

"Argh!" Crowley protested, shaking his head. "No, that's not playing fair, you're cheating." He felt his wits softening agreeably, but kept the paper held firmly out of reach. 

The angel gave up and straightened with a sigh, hands lingering on the tops of his shoulders. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” Crowley could hear the smirk in his voice.

Crowley stood, folded the paper and tucked it firmly into his inner jacket pocket. “You’re just going to have to wait to be amazed along with everyone else.” He spoke casually, concealing the jolt of nerves he felt at the idea. 

Aziraphale glanced up at him, looking entirely too understanding. He leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Don't worry, dear, there won't be many people there." 

Aziraphale always saw straight through him, no matter how hard he tried. Crowley sighed and pulled him close, hugging him against his chest. He was comfortably solid and warm in his arms, an anchor keeping him grounded. "I know. That is a relief," he admitted reluctantly. Aziraphale slid his own arms around his waist and held him back, and he felt the small knot of anxiety unravel completely. He sighed again, utterly content. “Any second thoughts?” 

“Of _course_ not. I told you before.” 

“Well, not so long ago you also said that you didn’t like me.” 

“Oh for heavens- I think everything since rather cancels that out. Are you going to hold that over me forever?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Crowley drawled. “At least until it stops being fun.” He hugged him tighter, and Aziraphale sighed and rested his head on his shoulder. 

“You do know I love you?” the angel murmured.

“I’m starting to get that idea, yeah.” He buried his face in the blond hair and inhaled, enjoying the familiar scent of his aftershave. 

“Tea sounds good,” Aziraphale commented after a few minutes. “Or maybe something stronger? It’s just late enough, and I’m a little hungry too...” he trailed off, sounding hopeful.

Crowley smiled to himself. Subtlety, thy name was not Aziraphale. “I’ll go down and get you something. I think we have some chocolates, too, that I can bring up.”

He framed his face in his hands and kissed him, letting his thumbs gently brush his chin. Aziraphale kissed him back, with heat, and he felt his heart stutter. Crowley stroked a fingertip down his face, tracing the lines of his nose and lips, marveling anew at his extraordinary good fortune. “And then I would like to take you to bed, angel. We have a busy day tomorrow, and I want some time with you to myself first.”

As it turned out, the feeling was mutual. 


	2. Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Aziraphale and Crowley reconnect with some old friends

* * *

Aziraphale stood in front of the full-length mirror, fussing with the clasp on his pocket watch and making sure everything was in place. He had miracled the silver-framed mirror into the bedroom out of storage early this morning, figuring that if he was going to wear something unfamiliar he could use an extra clear view.

He had decided the other day that simply nothing in his current wardrobe would do, and that new clothes were a must. The twill suit was a pale beige colour, and he thought it complimented the coffee-brown waistcoat remarkably well. He straightened his bow tie and tucked his gold watch into the waistcoat pocket, carefully arranging the chain just so. 

“Are you about ready?” Crowley asked. He was sitting on the bed and fidgeting with the sleeves of his own new suit, a spur-of-the-moment purchase that Aziraphale was particularly proud of. It was a shade of charcoal grey so dark as to be almost black, and he thought it looked absolutely gorgeous with the matching dark shirt, waistcoat and silvery tie. His demon looked elegant and distinguished and just the slightest bit dangerous, though he hadn't mentioned that last bit out loud.

Crowley hadn't even complained once about wearing it, either, which Aziraphale chose to interpret as his approval of the style. 

“Just about.” He glanced around. “Have you seen my-” he turned. Crowley was standing right behind him holding out the suit jacket, one side of his mouth quirked up into a smile. Aziraphale smiled back up at him. “Ah. Thank you, love.” He stepped in close and slid his arms through the sleeves, letting Crowley settle the jacket over his shoulders. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, enjoying the feel of good clothes and a perfect day. 

He turned around and reached out to smooth down the lapels of Crowley’s suit. “You look so very handsome.” He kissed him lightly and straightened the silver tie a bit. None of it really needed any smoothing or straightening, but he wanted an excuse to touch him. The night before had been long and immensely satisfying, yet somehow...still not enough. 

Crowley cupped a hand to his face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. "One second, I have something for you." He walked over to the bed and reached under his pillow, and pulled out a small white box. He handed it to him, and Aziraphale looked at it curiously. "What's this?" 

"A present, obviously, what do you think it is? Go on, open it." Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and folded his arms, watching him with those golden eyes. His foot tapped against the floor as he jiggled his knee, clearly trying to hide his excitement.

Aziraphale tucked away a smile and lifted the lid. Inside the box, resting on a bed of cotton was a simple boutonniere comprised of a single paper rose. The petals had been fashioned out of book pages, furled together onto a stem and tied up with a gold tartan ribbon.

"Since it's such a special occasion and all, I thought you might want to look especially stylish,” Crowley said. His tone was serious, but he had that gleam in his eye that said he was teasing. 

Aziraphale stared down at it, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. "Did...did you _make_ this?" 

"Well, no." Crowley shuffled his feet a little on the carpet, looking embarrassed now. "I bought it. Ordered it, actually. From a website. I thought you might like it, since you love books so much. And it will last much longer than a real flower. Unless you prefer a real one; I can always go get one of those instead." 

He had to swallow a couple more times before he could answer. "It's beautiful; it's perfect." He sat down next to him on the bed and held it out to him. "Could you...?"

Crowley took it from his hand and carefully used the long pin to affix the boutonniere to the lapel of his suit. He leaned back to admire his handiwork, and straightened it once. "There. You're perfect." He leaned forward and kissed him softly, and Aziraphale thought he might simply float away.

“I’ve got something for you, too.” He stood up and crossed the few steps to the desk, thanking his lucky stars that he had in fact thought to get something. 

He opened the top desk drawer and fished out a small black velvet bag. "You didn't give me much notice, so I had to make do with what I could readily find." He handed it to him and fidgeted, twisting his ring around and round on his finger, hoping against hope that he would like it. It felt like he had wandered through every shop in London before he found something that would suit. 

Crowley tugged open the drawstring and carefully tipped the contents of the bag onto his palm. It was a pair of elegant silver cuff links. They were engraved filigree and shaped like outstretched wings, one for each side. 

He said nothing, only looked down at them for a long moment. 

"Well?" Aziraphale finally asked, practically itching with impatience. "What do you think?" 

Crowley swallowed and held out his hand. "Will you put them on me?" His voice was slightly scratchy. 

Aziraphale beamed. That was as good an answer as any. "Of course, love." He picked them up and fastened each cuff link to Crowley's shirt sleeves, brushing his warm wrists with his fingers. As he finished, the demon's hands turned to envelop his own, holding them tightly. He pressed his lips to his knuckles, then placed a hand under his chin and kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Aziraphale reached up and brushed a piece of stray russet hair from his forehead. "There. We look as good as we ever will."

“Speak for yourself, angel.” Crowley stood up and pulled his dark glasses from his inside jacket pocket. He slid them onto his face and looked at him, smirking. “I always look this good.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, smiling back. He privately agreed, but wasn’t about to tell him so. He straightened and offered his arm, lifting his chin. “Ready?” he asked.

Crowley took it and smiled down at him, a real smile this time. “Since the Garden,” he replied, in the tone of one stating the obvious. 

Aziraphale would have answered that, but he found it was impossible to speak when you are trying not to cry. 

* * *

"Are you going to tell me where we’re going?" Aziraphale was sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley with his hands folded in his lap. They were finally on their way, but to where exactly in Westminster was still a mystery. Crowley had texted the two women the location the day before, and they were to meet them there in twenty minutes. 

"You'll see soon enough for yourself. We're almost there." Crowley grinned at him as he drove, his dark glasses flashing in the afternoon sun. It was an unusually clear, sunny day for early March. Almost as if the weather itself was celebrating, too. 

He grinned back and sat up straighter in his seat. Crowley's obvious excitement was contagious, and it was compounding his own fluttery emotions. He honestly had no idea what to expect; he would never have expected any of this from him at all and was still in a state of pleasant shock. He strongly suspected that Crowley had understated the amount of effort that had gone into everything, but he would let him pretend if it made him happy. As for the ceremony itself, he couldn't begin to guess at Crowley's tastes for this sort of thing. Their many, many conversations had somehow never covered weddings. For all he knew his demon might have arranged for some kind of absurd over-the-top location, or something dreadfully tacky. Whatever it was, it would be just fine. It would be wonderful, because Crowley had chosen it, and worked hard on it, and that knowledge alone gave him a warm glow of joy. He was prepared to love it even if it was objectively awful. He reached out and put a hand on Crowley's knee, and immediately felt him rest his own warm hand atop it. He glanced down with satisfaction at the gleam of silver against the dark grey sleeve- while it was impossible for him to look any handsomer, the silver cuff links were striking. 

It occurred to him then that they had both chosen to buy their gifts, rather than create them out of nothing. That was unusual for Crowley at least, and he liked it. It was yet another reflection of the ways they were anchored to this marvelous world.

He was beautiful, and his, and the future was theirs. 

Crowley turned the Bentley down a nice little side street, and pulled into an improbably vacant parking space along the pavement. He turned off the car and cleared his throat. "Here we are." He gestured with his chin towards the passenger side. 

Aziraphale peered out his window and stared at the brick building in front of them, with its tall white Corinthian columns and elegant stone arches. The words PUBLIC LIBRARY were engraved in grand letters over the elaborately carved entryway. He blinked, thinking his eyes must be playing tricks on him, and it took him a minute to find his voice. "You mean...the library?“ He turned to look at him. “We're getting married in a library?" 

"You don't like it?" Crowley was still gripping the steering wheel, and suddenly looked terribly anxious. "We don't have to do it here, we can always find a nicer place and re-_mmmph_!" Aziraphale grabbed him around the neck and kissed him, yanking him over onto his side of the car. Crowley squawked in startled protest and flailed briefly, then wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, leaning into it and pressing him up against the passenger side door and window. His arms were tight around his waist and his mouth was warm and wonderful, and for at least a solid minute they both entirely forgot they were in public. Their hands roamed freely and the world around them faded away, until the loud beep of a car horn on the adjacent street jolted them back to the present. 

They pulled apart with a jerk and sat back into their respective seats, both flushed and breathing rather harder than before. Crowley’s glasses were askew, and his previously immaculate hair stuck up in several directions. 

A woman walking by holding the hand of a small child shot them a horrified glance, and hurriedly bundled the girl past. 

"Right," Aziraphale said breathlessly. “The library.” He smoothed his own hair and straightened his paper boutonniere, which miraculously had not been crushed in those frantic moments. Happiness threatened to choke him, and he cleared his throat. "Shall we go in?" 

* * *

After putting himself to rights and using just a little bit of magic to fix Crowley’s hair, Aziraphale got out of the car and walked around to stand beside him. Happiness still bubbled in his chest, making it feel as if someone had replaced all his innards with champagne. He couldn’t even look at the library building without his throat closing up from emotion, so he contented himself with looking at Crowley instead.

The demon was checking his phone. "They’ve already arrived- they're waiting for us in that area, over there," he said. He nodded to the end of the short street only a few meters away, where a pair of tall pillared gates opened into a shady little park.

“Excellent.” He took Crowley’s arm and kissed his cheek, lingering for a good while longer than usual. “Lead on, my dear.” Crowley grinned at him and kissed his other hand, and off they went. 

They walked through the wrought-iron gates together, and almost immediately spotted the two familiar figures standing and talking by the nearest bench: the short formerly-Madame-now-Ms. Tracy, and the tall, slender figure of Anathema Device.

Ms. Tracy saw them first. "Hello, my dears!" she cried. "My my, don't you look so dapper. Congratulations to you both." She clasped his hands familiarly, smiling, then went and did the same to Crowley, who looked taken aback. Aziraphale remembered with amusement that he had never actually spoken to Ms. Tracy until just now, whereas he had told her all about him during their time sharing the same head. 

It seemed he and Crowley weren’t the only ones who had gone through some changes since last year. Ms. Tracy looked quite different from the woman he had possessed all those months back. Her coiffed hair seemed to be its natural shade of blonde, and she had traded her brightly-coloured medium's robe for a simple blue dress. The shrewd twinkle in her eye, however, remained undimmed. 

He had to admit, he thought she looked much better without the dreadfully garish makeup, dyed hair and enormous false lashes springing from her eyes like spiders legs. As it was, she looked rather nice.

Only Anathema seemed utterly unchanged, standing there with her hands on her hips, in her full-length, full-skirted green dress, looking much as she had the last time they saw her.

She smiled at them. “Hello boys. It's nice to see you again, under less trying circumstances for once.” She blinked, and her brow creased just the slightest bit above her round glasses as she looked them both over. She had a very piercing gaze, with those large black eyes of hers. 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. _Boys_ was a bit much from someone not even one-hundredth of their age; a child, really. He was about to say as much when he suddenly recalled that they had recently run this woman over with their car. He shut his mouth. 

"I have to admit, I was surprised to get your call, for several reasons," Anathema continued. "I was under the impression that you were already married." 

"Yes, me too," chimed in Ms. Tracy. "Given the way you spoke about him last year, in passing, I _very_ much got that impression."

"Ah," said Aziraphale. He deliberately avoided looking at Crowley, who he could sense was listening with great interest. "Well. That's been a common misconception. And thank you both very much for coming; I'm so sorry to impose, but I'm afraid our options for witnesses were...limited." The entire thing had worked out perfectly, as it happened. Anathema already knew Ms. Tracy: first from the airfield at Doomsday, of course, but then come to find out that young man of hers and Sgt. Shadwell had kept in touch (were off on the same trip, in fact), and the two women had become friends. He suspected that Ms. Tracy had put in a good word for them.

Anathema raised her eyebrows. "Now that I can believe. It _would_ be awkward if other people noticed you weren't human, wouldn't it. I'm happy to help, it's no trouble." She was still looking at them just a little more intently than seemed called for, eyes shifting from one to the other. 

He exchanged a curious glance with Crowley, who merely shrugged. 

Ms. Tracy sidled up to him and looped her arm through his, smiling and tilting her head. "Shall we head in? We can catch up more inside, but you don't want to be late for your own day." She started towing himdown the road towards the building without waiting for an answer. He glanced helplessly back at Crowley, who only shrugged again. The woman was a force of nature. 

He cleared his throat as they walked. “I wanted to thank you again; we very much appreciate this, Ms. Tracy. Especially on such short notice.”

She blinked up at him coquettishly and raised an eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Aziraphale, there’s no need for such formality. I think after what we went through together we can at least be on a first name basis with one another, don’t you think?” She winked at him. “Call me Miranda. Besides, it’s _Mrs_. Tracy now, dear.”

“I...suppose so,” he said, feeling slightly flustered. He had forgotten how unsettlingly direct Mrs. Tracy could be.

“Congratulations on your own nuptials.” He hesitated, then asked, “Mrs...Tracy? Not Shadwell?”

She glanced up at him. “And are _you_ going to be ‘Mr. Crowley’, then?” she asked, her voice very dry.

“Well, no, but-“

“Exactly. On we go.” She smiled sweetly up at him, but there was a glint of steel in her eye and he decided not to pursue the matter.

* * *

As Aziraphale and Mrs. Tracy moved ahead, Crowley was left briefly alone with Anathema.

She turned to watch them go, and as she did her gaze lingered on the angel again. Not on him, exactly, Crowley realised, but _through_ him. She looked like Aziraphale did when he was scanning for supernatural presences.

“What?” Crowley demanded. “Why do you keep looking at us like that?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, it’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, or you wouldn’t keep doing it,” he pointed out.

She sighed and looked at him again, tilting her head. “It’s just- it’s just your auras. They’ve changed, I think. It’s been a while, but they look different than I remember.”

“Our..._auras_? What the devil are you talking about?" 

She sighed again and rubbed at her eyes under the glasses. "It's a witch thing. I can see the halo of energy around your body; your life force, and I can tell things about people based on the colour, size, etcetera." 

Crowley was highly skeptical. "Okaayyy...assuming this is in fact a real thing, what do you mean ours have changed?” 

“Well, they used to be different colours, for starters. Yours was more dark red and his was pale blue. Now they’re both just a kind of very similar...purple-ish.” She arched a dark eyebrow at him. “What_ever_ could have happened to cause _that_?” The corner of her mouth twitched, threatening to turn up into a smirk. 

Crowley folded his arms and met her stare, smirking in turn. He found he rather liked that idea. “Huh. Is that all?” 

“No." She crossed her own arms, frowning thoughtfully. "They’re also more...I don't really know how to describe it. They both used to be larger, but duller. Now they are more compact but brighter, almost kind of...shimmery. I've never seen anything quite like it.”

He frowned too, baffled. “What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. I just see auras, they don’t come with a manual.” She shrugged again. “Sometimes auras just change. People change. And you two aren't even human, so all bets are off.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Thanks for that. Shall we?” He resolved to put theoretical shifty auras and all other useless things completely out of his mind. He had far more important matters to focus on today. 

“Yes. Let’s.” 

Together they walked the short distance down the street and came up behind Aziraphale and Mrs. Tracy, who had stopped on the pavementat the foot of the stone steps. They were looking up at the white arches and chatting companionably. 

**“**What a lovely place,” he heard the woman remark.

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at him and beamed, so hard his eyes nearly crinkled shut. “It _is_.” He blew him a kiss behind Mrs. Tracy’s back, and Crowley tripped over the curb as he forgot to pay attention to his feet. He quickly regained his balance and decided to pretend that nothing at all had happened. 

Anathema was standing there with her arms folded, just looking at him with obvious amusement. “Honestly, I’m embarrassed just watching you. You two are the most ridiculous people I have ever met.” 

“Maybe you should get out more,” Crowley retorted. He could feel his face getting warm, which was embarrassing in and of itself.

“I think England was plenty far for me.” She turned, smiling, then paused and looked back over her shoulder with a deadpan expression. “By the way...” she said to Aziraphale. “You have something on your neck.”

“My neck?” Aziraphale touched a hand to one side of it. “What, did I get ink on it?”

“Mmm, I doubt it.” Her mouth twitched, and she swept casually up the steps and through the door, skirts swishing. Mrs. Tracy winked broadly at Crowley and followed Anathema. Aziraphale stared after the two of them, looking nonplussed. 

Crowley glanced over and did a slight double take. There was indeed a dark purple splotch on the side of Aziraphale’s neck, exactly halfway between his jaw and collarbone. It was livid against his pale skin, and it was most definitely not ink.

Crowley rubbed at his mouth, trying not to laugh.

Aziraphale was still feeling around at his neck with his fingertips. “I can’t- Crowley dear, do you see what she was talking about?”

He kept his face turned straight ahead with a deliberately innocent expression. “It actually looks like a...bruise.” He thought he might sprain something simply from trying to keep the grin off his face.

“A bruise? Wha-“ The penny finally dropped, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. He clapped a hand to his neck and blushed beet red from the base of his throat all the way up to the roots of his hair. Crowley half expected to see steam trickle out of his ears. The angel’s mouth worked silently for a second, and he cleared his throat.

“I’m sure it was just a trick of the light,” he said with an admirable attempt at dignity. He might have even succeeded if he wasn’t doing his best impression of a blonde tomato at the moment. He removed his hand from his neck to reveal unblemished pale skin, the offending mark vanished. “See? Just a smudge,” he called loudly through the closing door. Neither woman heard, or if they did neither bothered responding**.**

Aziraphale leaned close to his ear. “You,” he muttered, “are in big trouble.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Crowley protested, grinning now that they were alone.

“I’m absolutely mortified. Crowley, I’ve been walking around like that all day! How did you not notice?”

“I've been distracted. Sorry.” He was not sorry. He snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him in for a quick kiss on the cheek, still grinning. “You have to admit, it was pretty funny though.”

“It was _not_ funny!”

“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale muttered. His lips were pursed in the way he did when he was desperately trying not to smile. He was still blushing, but not quite as livid a shade of scarlet. “Don’t make me regret this.” There was no real rancor in his voice.

Crowley just scoffed and took his hand. “You _like_ it, angel.”

“Good Lord,” the angel muttered again, cheeks still pink. His fingers tightened around his hand, nonetheless. 

Crowley took a deep breath and led him up the stairs, through the door and into the building. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mayfair Library](https://www.westminster.gov.uk/mayfair-library-2)


	3. Gathered Here Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There is an 'Explicit' rated wedding night story to this as well, link at end of Chapter. Enjoy!)

* * *

Crowley stepped through the double doors of the library hand in hand with his angel, and the nerves that he'd been suppressing all day started to flutter wildly again.

The human form was apparently capable of all kinds of physical sensations that he hadn’t known about before, and even his very thorough education over the last six months had not prepared him for this. Currently, his stomach felt as if it were filled with bees, which he was fairly sure was impossible. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek and tried to pull it together. Aziraphale didn't seem to be having any problems; he had apparently got over his embarrassment and now seemed almost insultingly at ease, chatting animatedly with Mrs. Tracy. 

_Focus on the immediate details. Don't think about the rest._ Ok. First things first. He had been told that the officials would meet them in the building. He tapped his leg and glanced about, and immediately spotted a formally-dressed old man and a very solid looking woman holding a large book on the far side of the foyer. 

“Those must be the registrars,” he said, nodding towards them. 

The four of them approached, and Aziraphale stepped forward with a bounce in his step. “Excuse me, sir, we are here to get married,” he burst out excitedly. Crowley cringed, torn between amusement and embarrassment. 

The man seemed slightly startled by the angel's enthusiasm, but recovered quickly. He was a tiny little old man with a thin, slightly pinched face. Wisps of white hair circled his mostly-bald head, and he peered at them through enormous black-rimmed glasses. 

“Ah, hello! You must be-“ he consulted a paper on his binder- “Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley?"

"That's right." 

“Welcome!" He shook their hands in a friendly fashion as everyone introduced themselves. "My name is Martin. I am the registrar who will be officiating your ceremony today, and Ms. Brandt here will be recording it for the Register.” He gestured to the woman with the book. Ms. Brandt nodded mildly in greeting. Crowley got the impression that she did everything in life mildly. She had the kind of bored, unflappable demeanor that said she had seen it all, ten times over, and fully expected to see it all again ten more times before she died. He liked her immediately. **  
**

“Are your witnesses present?”

“Yes, these are them.” Crowley gestured to Anathema and Mrs. Tracy, who waved awkwardly.

"Excellent. We have one brief legality to observe before we can proceed," he continued. "I'll need to interview the two of you for just a minute to confirm your details, then away we go.”

—

The registrar saw them into a little side office and sat down at the desk with his binder. Crowley took one of the seats across from him and Aziraphale took the other, keeping his grip on his hand.

The man adjusted his glasses and pulled out a sheaf of paperwork. “This will only take a couple minutes. I just need to verify your information before we go in; I did notice that there was a typo on your birth dates that I want to correct first.” He slid a paper towards them. 

Crowley glanced at the form. “Nope, that’s correct.”

Martin chuckled, then faltered when he simply stared back. “Come now. 1920? Certainly you two are not nearly one hundred years old.” 

Crowley experienced a moment of doubt. It had seemed a plausible human age to him, but perhaps... “Oh, sorry. 1900, then.” 

The old man just looked at him uncertainly, and he had the sinking feeling that he was making things worse. 

“Oh for heavens sakes,” Aziraphale said impatiently. He shot Crowley an exasperated glance and pulled the form towards him, and scrawled in a date by each name. “There.” He handed it back to the registrar, who took it with a nod of obvious relief.

“Now, ah, for the ceremony itself, I just need to confirm your names, and... actually...” he rifled through the paperwork, frowning through his glasses. “Hm. It doesn’t look like the part about personal information was ever properly completed.” He rifled further, his frown deepening as Crowley looked on in growing alarm. “Or most of this, actually. How this even got approved...” He shook his head. “I- I’m so sorry, gentlemen, but I’m afraid I’m going to need to check with the office and sort things out. I’m sure we can clear this up relatively quickly...”

_Oh, for fuck's sake..._

Crowley snapped his fingers in the man’s face, freezing him where he sat_._

Aziraphale slowly turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. His lips were pursed, but his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Honestly, my dear. 1900? Have you ever looked in a mirror?” 

He shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t usually bother with details like ages. It seemed close enough to me.” 

Aziraphale gestured to the frozen man across from them. "And are you _sure_ that doesn't..I don’t know, damage his memory at all?” 

“Nahhhh,” he said, though to be honest he wasn't completely sure. “Look at him, it’s not as if you need to worry about long-term damage.”

"Oh, for heaven's sake-" 

"Look, just- do you want to get married or not?" he demanded. 

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well...let's just minimise it, shall we?” 

"All right, all _right_." He rolled his eyes back at him. “Everything is in order and we’re ready to proceed,” he said decisively to the blankly staring man. He went to snap again, but Aziraphale reached out and touched his wrist, pausing him. 

"As soon as we leave here, fill in whatever is missing with something that makes sense,” Aziraphale added. He snapped his own fingers, and Martin unfroze, blinking.

“Well then, that’s everything! We can rejoin your guests and proceed to the ceremony room, if you will just follow me.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him approvingly as they both stood, and the angel smirked ever so slightly back. 

* * *

They were all shown into a small, brightly-lit room. Sunlight poured in through antique beveled-glass windows on the far side, and a large, ornately carved wooden fireplace adorned the wall near the front. The door they entered through was flanked by walls of bookshelves full of very old books, and fresh flowers had been set out here and there around the room.

Crowley shot a nervous glance at Aziraphale, wanting to gauge his reaction. It had struck him as a very..._Aziraphale_ kind of place, but one never knew. 

He needn't have worried. The angel was beaming at him, squeezing his hand so tightly that it hurt. He exhaled in glad relief and grinned back. 

Now everything suddenly seemed to be moving at an accelerated speed. They were at the front of the room, and Registrar Martin was gesturing for them to stand before him. Ms. Brandt took up residence with her large Register book at a small table off to the side, and Anathema and Mrs. Tracy chose seats in the first row of chairs.

"Sorry- what?" The registrar had asked them something, and he had been too distracted to process it. 

He smiled understandingly. “I said, do you have rings?”

“Yes, we’re wearing them,” Aziraphale said. They both held up their hands to show him.

“Ah. Did you want to exchange them?”

“We already did, a week ago,” Crowley replied.

“Oh. I meant, were you planning to take them off for the ceremony?” 

Crowley stared at him. “Why the hell would we take them off only to put them right back on again?” He wondered if the man was in fact an idiot. 

“I just, er...never mind. Quite right.” The old man looked rather baffled but gamely carried on. “In that case, since everyone is present and ready, we can begin in just a second.” 

He glanced at Crowley’s dark glasses and opened his mouth, then apparently decided not to comment. He walked over to Ms. Brandt, who had watched all this impassively, and handed her a document from his binder as she made a couple notes. 

Aziraphale reached out and gently pulled the glasses off his face. “Here, put these away, love. I want to see your eyes.”

Crowley hesitated, but took them from him and stowed them in his inner jacket pocket. He blinked, feeling self-conscious and oddly vulnerable. Nerves had a firm, clenched hold in his chest now that the moment had actually arrived, and the bees returned in force. He promptly broke into a sweat. The sun was too bright, and he could feel the gazes of everyone in the room on him- the registrar woman to the side, uncomfortably close at her little table, and Mrs. Tracy and Anathema, smiling in their seats only a few feet away. Anathema caught his eye and winked at him, and he immediately sweated harder. He fidgeted with his new cufflinks, suddenly feeling strangled in the fastened shirt sleeves. What the hell was he doing here? he thought in a panic. The paper with his vows seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket; full of things he had no business saying in public. This was ridiculous, and stupid. Why was he doing this to himself?

Aziraphale reached out to him, smiling that sun-bright smile, and his heart stuttered. He suddenly couldn't look away. 

_Oh. Right. _His chest loosened somewhat, and he took a deep breath before discreetly (he hoped) rubbing his damp palms on his trouser legs and taking his hand. The angel's fingers were dry and steady, and they squeezed briefly in reassurance. 

He swallowed nervously, throat clicking, wishing that the officiant would come back and get on with it already. 

Just then Aziraphale tapped him excitedly on the wrist. "Oh! Darling, I forgot to show you earlier. I re-worked my coin trick, and it's _much_ more impressive now." He reached out and pretended to pull his silver wedding ring from behind Crowley's ear. His face lit up, and he brandished it in front of his nose with a flourish. "Ta da!" 

He just stared at him incredulously for a second, then groaned, nerves momentarily forgotten. "Oh God. Are you kidding me. Please, no. That's even worse-" he stopped as he caught a twinkle in the angel's eyes. "Wait. Are you...trying to distract me?" 

Aziraphale's mouth twitched slightly upward at the corners. "Maybe." 

He didn't get a chance to answer, because at that moment the officiant returned to stand before them. Aziraphale quickly put the ring back on his finger and nodded, straightening his bow tie.

The old man nodded back, opened his binder, and without further ado finally began to speak:

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Mayfair Library for the wedding of Ezra Fell and Anthony Crowley. This place in which we are now met-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted. 

“Er- sorry, what?” The man blinked up at him through his thick glasses.

“His name is Aziraphale.”

“His- but the documents entered all say-” 

“Yes, yes, I know, but for the ceremony could you please use his real name?” Crowley ignored their two witnesses, who he could see out of the corner of his eye watching with great interest and amusement.

“His _real_ name?” 

“His nickname, then.” 

The man looked as if he was starting to regret this assignment. “Very well.”

"And you can go ahead and skip most of the normal extras; please just keep it to the bare necessities," Aziraphale interjected. He winked at Crowley, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. He wished desperately that he wasn't quite so obvious. 

Registrar Martin exchanged a look with Ms. Brandt, who shrugged. “Ahem. It's most irregular, but- very well, let us proceed,” he said, clearly resigning himself to an unusual day. He straightened and continued: 

“This place that we are now met is duly sanctioned according to law for the celebration of marriage. This ceremony will unite these two men in matrimony. We are here to celebrate their union and to honour their commitment to each other. Today they will proclaim their love for one another. We celebrate with them and for them.” 

He turned to Crowley. “Are you, Anthony Crowley, lawfully free to marry?" he asked formally. 

“Obviously. I wouldn't be here wasting my time otherwise.” Humans really did ask the most ridiculous questions. 

“Um...yes. And are you, er...” He hesitated.

“Aziraphale,” supplied Crowley again, helpfully.

“...Azirfell, lawfully free to marry?”

“I am,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“In that case, you may proceed with your prepared vows.”

* * *

The man gestured to Aziraphale first, so he reached out and took Crowley's left hand, holding it between both of his own. He ran his thumb over the familiar contours of the gold ring and studied his face, wanting to commit this moment to memory forever. The demon looked collected enough now, but his hand was sweating hard under his fingers and he could see more beads of sweat gathering at his hairline. He felt a fresh surge of affection, and smiled at him again reassuringly. Despite all his prickly mortification, Crowley had willingly put himself through this for him, and clearly at the cost of great time and effort. It left Aziraphale stunned. Like the rings, this was obviously no spur-of-the-moment decision, and he wondered how long he had actually been planning this. The level of attention that Crowley had paid to the things he loved had left him struggling against happy tears all day. 

His own heart was thudding in his chest, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He met his love's golden eyes and spoke the words filling his heart, the words that he had memorised late last night after Crowley had fallen asleep. 

“My dear, you are the love of my life and my soulmate, my one true family. There is no one else like you in all the world, and no one else I would face eternity with. You are utterly precious to me. I never knew I was missing half of my heart until I found you and you set me free. Thank you so much for waiting for me; I promise that I will never make you wait another second. I choose you, now and forever, and will stand with you against any and all trials that may come our way. I will love you, most ardently, with all my heart and treasure you for as long as I live.”

He exhaled and beamed, feeling giddy and relieved that he had remembered it all. He had given a lot of thought as to exactly what he wanted to say. He had also tucked in a small reference to one of his favourite stories, confident that Crowley would never in a thousand years recognise it. It was his own private joke and promise to himself. 

Crowley was gazing at him like he was the only one in the room, and for a second his face was open and utterly unguarded. He swallowed hard and looked like he would say something, but then just squeezed his hand and reached into his pocket.

He unfolded the piece of paper from the night before and looked down at it, smoothing out the creases. His cheeks slowly flushed to a dull shade of red, and he cleared his throat a couple of times. He shuffled his feet and glanced furtively at the officiant standing there, then at the two women watching expectantly from their seats. He took a deep breath, swallowed, took another deep breath, smoothed the paper out a final time, and finally began to read:

“Aziraphale. I have been yours from the moment I first met you, and I will be yours for the rest of my existence. You are my compass and my constellation through the dark, my lighthouse calling me home. You were worth every second of the wait, and I would have waited another six thousand years for you if that’s what it took. You make me happier than I ever deserved or thought possible, and I promise to do my best to be worthy of you. I promise to protect you from anyone or anything who would harm you and to cherish every moment with you, forever. I will-” He paused and cleared his throat again, face darkening to true scarlet now. “I will love you with all my soul until the stars grow cold and the seas run dry, and then I’ll take you away to some other galaxy and love you there until the universe turns to dust.”

_I will _not_ cry_, thought Aziraphale firmly, and promptly began to cry. It was all just too much. The tears that had been threatening all day finally burst free and just kept streaming silently down his face without his permission. He blinked rapidly and swiped at his eyes to try to stem the flow, to no avail. His own vows suddenly seemed painfully inadequate, and he desperately wished he could try again. He gazed at Crowley, utterly speechless and heart so full he thought it might burst. He managed to keep from dissolving into blubbering sobs, but it was a near thing. The demon’s golden eyes were watery as well, and he was scowling fixedly down at the paper in an obvious attempt to hide it.

He sniffled and reached out and took Crowley’s hand again, completely overcome. Crowley looked up and saw his face, and immediately pulled him into his arms. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered. He held him tightly and kissed him, leaning forward and bending Aziraphale dramatically back.

There were several muffled snorts and a cough of what might have been laughter from somewhere in the audience. 

“Er...we aren’t quite there, yet,” said the officiant rather helplessly as the silence stretched on. There was another burst of quiet, strangled giggles from the nearby seats. 

Crowley broke off the kiss and turned his head to glare at the old man in irritation, keeping his firm hold around Aziraphale's waist and shoulders. “Well then, get on with it,” he snapped.

“Darling, don’t be rude. Can you just skip to the end, please, sir?” Aziraphale asked. He hadn’t let go of him or taken his eyes away from Crowley’s face. "Just whatever is legally necessary."

The officiant was squinting at Crowley in something like true alarm now, apparently noticing his eyes for the first time. He looked entirely out of his depth, but he gave his head a shake as if to clear it and looked over at Ms. Brandt in silent entreaty. She just raised her eyebrows, so the man shrugged and flipped through his binder to the last page. He was clearly eager to be done with them at this point. 

“Er. Ahem. Please repeat after me. I, Azirfell, take you, Anthony Crowley, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

He repeated the words, and Crowley did the same, speaking seriously, when it was his turn. Aziraphale felt so many things that he could only look up him and smile. He brushed away something that looked suspiciously like water from the demon's cheek with his thumb.

Crowley turned and looked at the old man. “Finished?” he demanded.

“Uh, well.” He was staring at Crowley’s eyes again, blinking as if he hoped that would change what he saw. “Technically yes, that’s the minimum you legally need to-”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale back into a kiss, and they both promptly forgot that the official existed. After a minute or two they heard him awkwardly shuffle off, muttering something about _irregular_.

—

Some time later, Aziraphale felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Ms. Tracy, looking dryly amused. "Ahem. Sorry to interrupt, dear, but you still need to sign the certificate to finalise everything."

“More bloody forms?” Crowley groaned. 

“Just the one set.” 

He sighed and reluctantly untangled his arms from Aziraphale's waist. “The things I do for you, angel.” 

* * *

They walked out of the building a short while afterwards, holding tight to each other's hands. Aziraphale had the freshly-signed marriage certificate safely in his jacket pocket (the registrars had handed it to him with an air of bemused resignation), and his husband on his arm, and he felt like he might discorporate on the spot from pure happiness. Crowley was grinning, too, looking beautiful and slightly dazed, and he couldn't resist teasing him just a little. He nudged him playfully with his elbow. "There, you survived. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

His demon blew out a huge breath, still grinning. "Yeah, piece of cake," he said casually. He met his eyes and raised their entwined hands to his mouth, enfolding his hand in both of his warm ones, and pressed his lips to the silver ring. He smirked, keeping his hold on his hand. "Worth every minute. Now you're well and truly stuck with me." 

Aziraphale just beamed, beyond words, and laid his other hand atop the rest. Crowley smiled back, bright and open and as happy as he had ever seen him, and leaned in to kiss him. 

There was a click and flash of light right in their faces, and they both flinched and turned their heads to look. 

Mrs. Tracy was lowering a camera only a couple feet away, looking triumphant. Anathema stood next to her, arms folded and smirking. 

"What the hell was that?" demanded Crowley.   
  


Mrs. Tracy smiled sweetly at them. "_That_," she said with vigor, "was me making sure you have at least one good photo from today." She replaced the cap on the lens and tucked the camera back into her purse. "I could tell that you weren't going to give us a smile if I asked, so I took matters into my own hands. Don't worry, dear, it will turn out lovely. I'll have it developed and sent to you. Consider it a wedding gift." 

"I got a couple pictures on my phone during the ceremony, too," Anathema chimed in. "The most embarrassing parts. I'll text you." 

Aziraphale burst out laughing at the look of utter indignation on Crowley's face. Mrs. Tracy winked at him. "He'll complain, but he'll appreciate it later." She turned, radiating smug satisfaction, and started walking back towards the park. Crowley sputtered after her for a second, then just looked at Aziraphale, the picture of outrage.

The angel raised his eyebrows. "Don't look at me, darling. This is all _your_ fault." He kissed him on the cheek. "And you know you _will_ appreciate it later." 

"Hrnnngh." 

Anathema was still standing there smiling at them, arms crossed. "Congratulations, by the way. And I have to say, that was just...far more entertaining than I was expecting it to be. I admit, I came mainly out of curiosity, and it did not disappoint. This was one of the weirdest things I've ever been a part of. And that is _really_ saying something lately." She turned in a swirl of skirts and headed after Mrs. Tracy. "I'll see you two at lunch," she called back. 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "Lunch?" 

"Ah." He winced. "I may have invited them both to go to a late lunch with us, earlier. You know, to celebrate...I thought the Ritz seemed fitting, all things considered."

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Oh, all _right_, angel. I guess. If you insist on making a big deal out of all this." He grinned at Aziraphale's incredulous exclamation and took his arm, and together they walked the short distance across the empty street to the car. 

The Bentley had a small stack of parking violation notices on the windshield, which the demon grabbed and absently tossed into the air without looking. The papers vanished in a flash of smoke and flame that smelled strongly of sulphur. 

Crowley opened the passenger door for him, then turned and slid his long arms around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder. For a long, long minute he just held him, and Aziraphale held him back, and they enjoyed their first quiet moment alone together since the ceremony. Cars passed on the nearby street and pedestrians bustled on by, but neither of them paid it any attention. Aziraphale closed his eyes, and the world narrowed to the thrum of Crowley’s heart against his chest and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. He could easily spend the rest of the day standing here, just like this. Maybe no one would notice if they simply didn't show up for lunch. 

Crowley finally kissed his neck and looked at him, smiling in the quiet way that he saved only for when no one was watching. "I do love nothing in the world so much as you. Is not that strange?” he said softly.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Shakespeare, is it? Well then, 'I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.'” He kissed him lightly and grinned. “You always had a soft spot for the sappy stories, didn’t you?” he teased.

Crowley smirked and stepped back to let him into the car. "The _funny_ ones, yes. And look who’s talking, my ‘most ardent’ angel. Pride and Prejudice? I guess I shouldn't be surprised." 

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks with his hand on the door.

"Crowley, how the- how the-" he sputtered. He couldn't even get the words out, and just gaped at him, completely flabbergasted. "How- _how_ the actual _hell_ do you know where that is from? You don't read!" 

Crowley stared, looking confused and slightly alarmed by the vehemence of his outburst. "I thought- isn't it one of your favourite books?" he stammered. 

It turned out that Aziraphale had some blubbering sobs left in him, after all. 

* * *

After composing himself and reassuring the thoroughly panicked Crowley that he had not in fact done anything wrong, they drove to the restaurant to meet the others. 

They walked into the Ritz arm in arm, and were greeted warmly by Anathema and Mrs. Tracy. The two women seemed to have resolved to make it as festive an occasion as possible, and had ordered a couple bottles of wine for them to enjoy in the lounge while they waited for their reservation. With the help of the wine, everyone in the unlikely quartet seemed to finally relax and let down their guards around each other. Crowley didn't even seem to mind Anathema's sarcastic commentary any more. He applied his own razor-sharp tongue in turn, and they were all soon laughing. Aziraphale looked on in delight as his demon smiled more easily than he had ever seen him do in public. It was all simply too good to be true. 

A smartly-dressed elderly lady standing nearby at the bar smiled at them, and leaned in conspiratorially to put her hand on his arm. 

“Such a lovely couple. How did the two of you meet, young man?”

He laughed, feeling a little punch-drunk. “Well, madame, you see, that’s a long and rather _funny_ story-”

Crowley put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and gently laid a hand over his mouth, silencing him, and favored the lady with his most overly-cheery smile.

“Through work.”

“Isn’t that nice.” The old lady beamed, networks of wrinkles creasing her face. “A true modern love story.” 

Crowley snorted and Anathema burst into helpless giggles behind them as the lady walked off, and Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle too. 

He smiled at Crowley, his counterpart, the sunlight to his shadow, and the world around them suddenly seemed to blur and take on a surreal quality. He saw himself as if from a great distance, and looked on in wonder. He was wearing the clothes he had chosen for himself and bought with human money, about to eat fine food that his body certainly did not need, with a certificate from the human government in his pocket, sitting with human friends and his demon husband- all in the world he had defied heaven itself to save. It was scandalous and excess and wanton and taboo, and everything he knew was supposed to reject. _If Gabriel and Michael and the rest could see me now_, he thought...

...and realised with a burst of shining, absolute clarity that he didn’t give a single damn. This was his home, more than heaven had ever been. It had always been his home, and he would fight to keep it. 

In that instant, he felt the very last vestige of his old self, his old obligations and inner conflicts, thousands of years of doubts and lies, crack and fall away like a pair of iron manacles. 

He had been lying for so, so long. He had lied to Gabriel every time he pretended to care for humans less than he did. He had lied about his intentions to fight in the war. He had lied to _himself_ about so many things for so many years, but mostly about why his heart leapt whenever he saw Crowley. He had lied to Crowley (he still cringed at the memory) when he told him he didn’t care for him. He had lied and lied and lied, and it had come so close to destroying them both. He had very nearly torn out his own heart. 

He was done lying, done pretending to be something he was not. He knew himself, and for the first time that he could remember the knowledge brought him no anxiety at all. He had made his choices, and damn the consequences.

He took a deep breath, feeling as if a great weight had suddenly fallen away that he hadn't even known was there. He actually laughed out loud at the lightness in his chest. Crowley looked at him and raised an inquiring eyebrow, devastatingly handsome and _his_. Aziraphale just smiled and tightened his grip on his hand as the most profound peace settled over him. 

_Are you watching, God?_ he thought. _This is who I am._

* * *

**{[For their wedding night story, go HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831318). Rating: Explicit}**

* * *


	4. New Beginnings

* * *

“Aziraphale?”

The quiet question jerked him out of his light doze, and he blinked sleepily. It was mostly dark, and he was lying on their sofa in the back room with his head on his husband’s bare chest. His arms were wrapped around the slender waist with one hand clasping Crowley’s hip. His wings were still free and draped lazily over them both like a blanket, and Crowley was gently carding his fingers through the ivory feathers. 

The actual sofa blanket lay somewhere scattered on the floor, along with everything they had been wearing that day. Along with several previously-stacked piles of books, a couple smashed wine glasses, and at least one broken lamp. The lamp was still shining from somewhere on the floor, throwing a weak yellow light over one corner of the room. 

The world had the hushed, held-breath feel that meant it was in the middle of the night, or early hours of the morning. That was good. That meant they were hours away from daylight, from anyone coming knocking and expecting them to get up or do anything at all. 

Crowley stroked his wing again, and Aziraphale sighed and stretched it out a bit, feeling comfort radiate through every inch of his body. “Mmmm.” The wings were strong, but incredibly sensitive. They were a part of his true celestial form, not his human body, and as such it was akin to having pieces of his raw soul flapping around. It would have felt horribly violating for anyone else to touch them.

"There you are," Crowley said, a smile in his voice. He ran his warm hand along the other wing, smoothing down the out of place feathers, and Aziraphale sighed again and shifted it just a little closer to him. Crowley was not anyone else. 

"Of course I'm here," he murmured, lead-heavy with sleep and happiness. "Where else would I be?" He was so perfectly comfortable that he felt no inclination to move- possibly ever again. Crowley's chest made the most lovely pillow imaginable, and the arm not petting his wing was cosy and tight around him. He felt safe and secure and replete, and wanted nothing more than to just lie here and enjoy the feeling of Crowley's marvelous body pressed all along his.

"Nowhere, if you know what's good for you." Crowley gently wrapped his hands around one of his wings and drew it up towards him. He pressed his lips to the delicate skin and rubbed his cheek against the feathers. The touch sent shivers of pure bliss rippling through Aziraphale from the tips of his wings all the way down to his feet. It was emotional as well as physical- like sinking into a warm bath, the first sip of hot chocolate, and the satisfaction of a job well done, experienced all at once. He tightened his arms around his demon and groaned; if he got any more relaxed he would simply dissolve into a puddle. 

“Aziraphale...how would you feel about leaving London?”

The words took a while to work their way through the fog of sleepy contentment shrouding his mind, but once they did his eyes snapped open. 

“Leave!” He extricated an arm and propped himself up to look Crowley full in the face. There wasn't much light, but he could see enough to make out his serious expression. “Why? For where?”

“Not sure." Crowley looked at him, tawny eyes soft. The hand touching his wing had moved to his back, and lay still for the moment. "But I was thinking...we’ve been living here a long while, and someone will eventually start to notice that we aren’t aging. I think it might be time for a change.”

“This _is_ the longest I’ve ever lived in one place,” Aziraphale said wistfully. “But...I like it here.” He could sense the truth of Crowley’s words, deep down. He had known this was coming for years, but had put off leaving for as long as possible- and he could finally admit to himself why. He liked London, certainly, and he loved his life here, but there were plenty of other nice places that he had liked. They had all only been missing one significant, red-haired detail. 

That detail ran his hand over his wing again, comforting. “We wouldn't have to go _far_,” Crowley said. “London will always be here. We know that now, at least. We can visit as often as we want. And we can always move back in a couple of decades.” He absently toyed with a loose feather, pressing it between his long fingers. “A nice house somewhere wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aziraphale sighed. “No, not so bad at all. I suppose you’re right.” He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “But...what about my bookshop?” He looked around at the darkened room, at the shelves full of carefully organized volumes, the collection decades of work in the making. 

“Bring the books with us; open a new shop,” Crowley said. He shrugged, jostling him slightly. "Or we could just build an enormous library and keep them all; it’s not as if you actually wanted to sell them anyways. You’d never have to chase a customer off again."

"Hm. That does have a certain appeal. A fresh start." Aziraphale smiled and reached up to pull a couple small pieces of white feather out of his red hair. “Still trying to get me to run away with you, I see.” He brushed a bit of black feather off his chin, then kept his hand there, thumb touching his bottom lip. 

Crowley reached up to entwine their fingers together, and kissed the back of his hand. “Always. But somewhere much closer than Alpha Centauri this time, I promise.”

He laid his head back on Crowley's chest, thinking. The instinctive dismay he had felt at the idea of leaving had faded, and he was suddenly envisioning a quiet house- a _real_ house, with just him and Crowley together. A place they could make entirely their own, with no interruptions or pretending it was anything else. Living like humans in earnest. The vision warmed him to his toes. 

“We don’t have to,” Crowley said quickly, as the silence grew longer. “It was just a thought. We can always-”

“Yes. Let’s do it.” Aziraphale interrupted. He wrapped his arms back around Crowley, sinking into the soft cushions, and sighed happily. 

”Really?” 

“Anywhere,” he said. “You are my home, and I will follow you absolutely anywhere you want to go.” He rolled his head against his chest and looked up at him. “I don’t care where I am as long as you’re there. Now that I’ve got  you I’m never  going to let you out of my sight.” 

“Well, you’re in luck,” the demon said matter-of-factly, “because undoing it would require even more stupid forms, and I don’t think I could handle that. I guess I’ll just have to put up with you hanging around.”

“Oh, shut up.” His arms were still trapped under Crowley, so he punched him lightly with one wing. Crowley just pulled him closer and stroked the wing in response, which was not playing fair at all. He melted agreeably under that hand and let his eyes drift shut again, smiling against his chest. 

"Where, then?" Crowley thought aloud, jerking him back to reality. "Somewhere with access to London, but not too close. Must have good food, obviously." 

“Maybe somewhere in Surrey?” Aziraphale suggested drowsily. Had he ever been to Surrey? He couldn't remember. 

“Better not. I may have created a bit of...hubbub over there, a handful of years back. Probably best to steer clear.” 

Aziraphale started to ask what on earth he had done, then decided he probably didn't want to know. "Wonderful. You'd better not pull anything wherever we move next," was all he said. 

"Nah, I'm retired now. I don't cause trouble anymore.” At Aziraphale’s disbelieving snort, Crowley amended, “Well. No more than strictly necessary, of course.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale looked up at him and smiled. “You really do make a terrible demon, my love."

"Ha. Fitting, then, that I married the worst angel I know." 

"True." Aziraphale kissed him, and Crowley kissed him enthusiastically back, and for a long time that occupied all of his attention. 

“You know,” Aziraphale mused, once they had caught their breath again. Crowley's arms were wrapped around and through his wings now, and they were tangled together even tighter than before. “You know, we’ve spent most of our lives here living in cities. If we want a change, there's quite a lot of lovely countryside we’ve never explored, and of course the ocean as well.” He chewed his lip, thinking. The possibilities suddenly seemed endless, now that they had made the decision to go. The entire world opened up before them, beckoning.

"That sounds good to me," Crowley said, and kissed his cheek. "Well, if it’s countryside and ocean you want, how would you feel about the South Downs?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues, stay tuned for more series installments.


End file.
